Love Is Stronger
by FrodoFever
Summary: Danielle, a young woman trying to find herself. Mort, the social outcast who has given up on hope. Will they survive against the odds, or will fate seperate them as a troubled past resurfaces? R&R please! Bad at Summaries
1. Chapter 1

/I don't own anything you recognize in this story. /

Chapter One

"Why do writers write? Because it isn't there." –Thomas Berger

It was a perfect ending. He couldn't have written it better and if he did, the ending wouldn't have been perfect for this story.

Mort Rainey sighed and stretched his arms high over his head. Writing the perfect ending could take the energy right out of a man. But it was sure worth it.

Making sure he saved what he had so far, Mort got up from his desk and went downstairs to look for something to eat. Finding only a stale bag of Doritos in the back of the cupboard, he sighed. He would have to go to the store soon. He definitely didn't like going out of his house, let alone off his property if he didn't have to. Yes, Mort could safely say that he had become the social outcast of Tashmore Lake.

Mort frowned thoughtfully. It was funny how those things worked themselves out. Yet he still couldn't understand why people who knew him turned the other way when they saw him coming. He didn't know how to tell them that it wasn't him who had caused the death of his private detective, neighbor, wife, and wife's boyfriend. Couldn't they understand that the man responsible for the disappearance and murders was John Shooter?

The doorbell rang, breaking Mort out of his thoughts. It was a little odd that someone would willingly come to his door and knock, unless they were a stranger. Apparently everybody thought they would catch whatever mental illness Mort Rainey had if they were around him. Either that or they would never come out or be seen again.

Tossing the bag of Doritos into the sink, Mort walked slowly to the front door. There was no need to hurry. If they truly wanted to see him, they would have the patience to wait for him to get to the door.

Reaching the door, Mort looked into the peep hole. It was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Mort didn't remember ever seeing her around town before when he was allowed to go into town. Maybe she was new. This could be interesting.

Mort opened the door and the woman smiled hopefully. Obviously she didn't know anything about him or she wouldn't be smiling so brightly.

"May I help you, madam?" Mort asked, a little apprehensive. It was beginning to dawn on him that Tashmore Lake might have sent the shrink to come haul him to the asylum.

"Hello, I'm Danielle Pearson. I just moved here from New York City and I was looking for a place that I could rent until I can find my own place," the woman exclaimed. "I'm to be the reporter for Tashmore News."

Mort stared at Danielle in surprise. This was definitely unexpected. If she was truly with the police department and the asylum, she would have already dragged him out of his home and on their way to the department already. Nonetheless, one couldn't be more careful while feeling the elation of having a twenty year-old standing on one's front porch.

Mort cleared his throat. "There's a good hotel in town. They don't get much traffic so you'll be sure to find a room."

Danielle looked at him wearily. "I don't think I can get that far. Please, if it's not too much of a trouble, may I stay at your place, at least for tonight?"

Mort closed his eyes before opening them slowly again. If he sent her into town, she would find out about his reputation for being a crazy man and a murderer. But if she stayed here, there was no knowing what could happen.

His courtesy won over and Mort stepped aside, giving her enough room to come in, gesturing for her to let herself in. Danielle sighed with relief and walked through the door as Mort closed it behind her. Her eyes looked over the house. Despite its poor condition, it was a beautiful house and had a lot of potential.

Danielle turned to her benefactor. "Your house is beautiful. If it was spruced up a bit, it would look gorgeous."

Mort shrugged. "I haven't been able to get around to fixing the place up much. I've been going through some difficulties lately and haven't had much thought to making it more livable. And I'm a writer. I need to make a living."

Danielle laughed. "Isn't that the truth? I know how you feel. Are you also part of Tashmore News?"

Mort looked at her thoughtfully for several moments. Danielle thought he didn't hear her and was about to ask again when he shook his head.

"No, I'm not. I'm a novelist. My name's Mort Rainey if you didn't know," Mort answered.

Danielle's eyes widened in amazement and shock. "You're kidding me? Not the famous Mort Rainey who wrote Secret Window?"

Mort grimaced at the name of the novel that gave him so much fame. That book was also his downfall in making him the outcast of Tashmore Lake.

"Yes, that would be me," Mort said. "Here, let me show you to my room. I don't usually sleep in there anymore. I have the habit of falling asleep on the couch watching the football games on the television."

"You sound like my father. He's always doing that and never making it to bed. It drives mom up the wall," Danielle exclaimed, laughing.

Mort smiled. "What else can you expect from men, though, honestly?"

"Not much else by my experience," Danielle said.

Making sure she was comfortable in his room, Mort went back downstairs. Danielle Pearson was a beautiful woman and she seemed to be intelligent as well. And she was a writer. Nobody could go wrong with that, not at all. Maybe he could make something out of this without anyone else messing it up.

Mort stretched out across the couch. Well, there was always time for making the moves as long as the townspeople didn't open their fat mouths. Mort fell asleep with the hope that he would be able to get to know the mysterious Danielle Pearson a bit more before it was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

/I don't own anything you recognize in this story. /

Chapter Two

Pulling the blue hair band out of her hair, Danielle shook her head, feeling the thick chestnut hair cascade down her back. Her mother had always commented that with her good looks and confident personality, Danielle would be able to make it big in Hollywood. That is, if her love of writing and wanting to the world to know the truth about everybody else didn't get in the way of her mother's dreams.

Danielle smiled at the memory as she brushed through her hair. She could still remember calling from her dorm room to her mother that she was changing her major from music and drama to journalism. Her mother had been severely disappointed and tried to change her mind, but Danielle never did. She had found her calling and was sticking to it. And now, just weeks after graduation, she had landed herself a job in the small town of Tashmore Lake, Tennessee.

Danielle placed her hairbrush on the dresser and studied herself thoughtfully. She didn't look too bad. She shifted her thoughts back to the man name Mort Rainey who was currently lounging on his leather couch. She still couldn't believe that she had stumbled onto the doorstep of her long time idol. Her dreams couldn't become any truer.

Rummaging around her single battered suitcase, Danielle found a clean pair of jeans and a green sweater and pulled them on. She had been living from her suitcase for the past week and her supply of clean clothes was wearing thin. Maybe Mort would let her clean her clothes later.

Checking that she looked alright, Danielle opened the bedroom door and went out, peeking quietly around the corner before going downstairs. She had noticed that Mort Rainey's work space was on the landing and she didn't want to disturb him if he was working.

"Ah, I see you have found my bathroom alright," Mort said smiling, handing her a glass of water. "Sorry I don't have anything stronger than water, I haven't been to town to get groceries yet."

Danielle smiled brightly. At least he was a gentleman and offered her something to drink.

"That is alright. I completely understand how it is to be so busy you can't seem to be able to do anything else. A writer becomes a bit of a social outcast, if you know what I mean," Danielle exclaimed.

Mort's expression darkened and Danielle wondered if she had said something wrong. She knew how it offended some writers to be told that they were social outcasts despite their brilliant works of art.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that," Danielle exclaimed.

Mort smiled sadly and shook his head. "Don't worry about it; you haven't offended me at all. I was only thinking about something else."

Danielle nodded slowly, but she still wasn't convinced. Something had rattled Mort and she wasn't going to rest until she found out about it, one way or another.

"So, are you married, Mort?" Danielle asked. "This is quite a big place to be living on one's own."

"I was, at one time," Mort said. "But we weren't meant to be. We were going through a bitter divorce, and then about a year after the divorce, she was murdered by one of her enemies.

"And that would be you, wouldn't it?" Danielle teased. She instantly knew she said the wrong thing by look at his darkened face.

"No, it wasn't me," Mort stated, "but they had blamed it on me at first."

"Of course," Danielle sympathized. "They always want to look at the people closest to the victims first."

"Yeah, but I knew I didn't do it," Mort said earnestly. "I knew that it was someone else, had even given them all the information I could, but they still accused me of murder."

"So, what happened then?" Danielle asked, intrigued by Mort's story.

"They eventually acquitted me for the lack of evidence against me on my part," Mort said heavily. "They still haven't found the killer. And when they do, I want justice for what had happened to my wife."

"I'm so sorry, Mort," Danielle said. She felt sorry for the man sitting in front of her. It made sense that he would want justice for his wife. After all, one didn't take an accusation of murder too lightly if they knew they didn't do it. But—"Why would want to put so much effort into it if you and your wife were separating."

Mort sighed. This young woman was good. No wonder she was in the journalism field, she did her part in extracting information well. All he hoped was that she wouldn't be influenced by the townspeople when she eventually went into town.

"Because I was—and am, still in love with her. I would have continued to go on with her if I hadn't found her with another man and she hadn't insisted that she was more in love with him than she would ever be with me," Mort exclaimed.

Danielle nodded, unable to find any words of comfort for him. His was truly a story of unrequited love and unpaid justice. She would have to go into town and find out more about this curious incident.

"If I were you, I would have moved away as soon as possible," Danielle exclaimed.

Mort laughed. "I'm sure you would, Danielle. But if I had moved away, it would only confirm the suspicions of the people of Tashmroe Lake."

"They still think you're the murderer?" Danielle asked, shocked. She would have thought the townspeople would have lovingly taken him back after he was proven innocent. But that's how the way it usually went and nobody could change the way society wanted to think.

"Unfortunately, they still do," Mort smiled ruefully. "Please forgive me for being so rude, but I need to get into town and get some food supplies. I wouldn't be a good host if I didn't have any food."

Danielle smiled. "Please don't be. Allow me to go into town for you. I have nothing better to do."

"No, please don't. I really need to go. For myself. I haven't been out of the house for days working on my project. And anyways, you've had a long day with traveling. Please, go upstairs and rest. I won't kick you out, if that's what you're afraid of," Mort exclaimed.

Danielle smiled and stood up. "No, of course not. Please forgive me. I think I _am_ a little tired."

Mort nodded. Several moments later, he was out the door and in his car heading into town. Danielle let her breath out slowly. That was quite a story that Mort Rainey had and it had sparked her interest. She wanted to know more about Mort and his murdered wife.

Heading upstairs and closing the door behind her, Danielle fell onto the bed and fell instantly into a dreamless sleep. Her last thoughts were that her plans would have to wait until morning. Or in the very latest on Monday.

--

**Author's Note:** Chapter Two for everybody. Sorry it has taken me a long time, but I had school and that became my first priority. Thanks to those who've read and reviewed, I appreciate it. I hope you like it and will continue reading. I'll update as soon as I can.


	3. Chapter 3

/I don't own anything you recognize in this story. /

Chapter Three

Mort gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He drove silently into town, lost in his thoughts. Danielle had come close to the heart of who he was in there and it had rattled him to the bone. And it also made him suspicious.

Why was she asking so many questions? If she was truly a part of the investigation, wouldn't she have said anything? Not unless she wanted to befriend him first and then catch him in saying something that would incriminate him.

Mort narrowed his eyes. That had to be it. What else could it be, to be completely honest? He sighed. There was only one way to be done with this and that was to kick her out. Danielle really wasn't a journalist but an investigator. Well, the investigation wasn't going to last much longer.

Feeling a pain shooting through his fingers, Mort remembered his grip on the steering wheel and loosened it. He was becoming paranoid and that wasn't a good thing, especially on one's health.

Pulling into an empty parking spot, Mort turned his car off and stared straight ahead, not looking at anything in particular. This was going to prove interesting, going into the grocery store. No doubt they were going to call the police on him if he went in there; after all, he wasn't supposed to come into town. He was supposed to go into the next town over—twenty miles away.

Mort hit the steering wheel angrily. This wasn't fair, not fair at all. He didn't do anything at all, yet they still treated him as a disease. Why did he deserve such treatment when he had shown no harm to the inhabitants of Tashmore Lake?

A shadow of a person walked across Mort's line of vision. Mort froze. The figure looked familiar to him. Actually, it was more than familiar. He knew the man. It was the one person that he dreaded to see every day ever since that fateful day when his wife was killed. It was John Shooter.

Panicking, Mort shuffled to turn his car back on and back out. He didn't want to have anything to with the man who ruined his life. But he wasn't quick enough.

A hand grabbed the door's handle on the driver's side and was opened slowly. Mort looked in horror as Shooter's face soon came into view. He was so close—close enough to kill him but Mort didn't dare move. If he stayed still the man would go away. Much to Mort's resignation, Shooter didn't go away, but grinned toothily at the driver.

"I see that we meet again, Mort Rainey," Shooter drawled. "I was wondering when we were going to meet again."

"I have no business with you, John Shooter," Mort exclaimed.

"I see you had published my book, Mr. Rainey," Shooter continued, oblivious to the fact that Mort had spoken at all, "and I have to say that I was very pleased when I read it. You had made the ending perfect!"

"It's not your book, Shooter," Mort said. "The idea came to me, from my brain. Not yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to do a bit of grocery shopping."

Mort shoved Shooter out the way before getting out and hurrying towards the store. Shooter grabbed Mort's shoulder and pulled him close. Mort could barely look into those cold gray eyes. They were like the eyes of death.

"I'll be watching you closely, Mr. Rainey," Shooter said in a low voice, "and if I see you doing the wrong move, you'll find yourself dead from a slashed throat and sinking to the bottom of your watery grave."

"What wrong move?" Mort asked, but Shooter was already walking away and disappearing into the distance.

Rubbing his shoulder, Mort slowly headed inside the store. He didn't notice the odd looks given to him by the people having their evening coffee. He was too lost in thought.

Finding all the things he needed, Mort paid for the groceries and hurried back to his car. He wasn't taking any chances. Jumping into the car, he rushed home as fast as he could. This wasn't the kind of night to be lingering around anywhere.

Finally reaching home, Mort jumped out and grabbing his purchases, rushed inside while slamming the door behind him.

Danielle looked up from her book that she was reading, a puzzled expression on her face. Mort leaned against the front door, breathing heavily. That was a close call.

Danielle got up and walked over to where Mort was standing. "Is everything all right? I hope the people didn't cause you too much grief."

Mort shook his head. "N-nothing. Everything's fine. I just don't like being out at night. Dangerous things can happen if you aren't too careful."

"Well, if you're sure—" Danielle said, not entirely convinced at Mort's story.

"Yes, I'm absolutely sure. Please forgive me if I scared you," Mort said before hurrying to the kitchen.

"By the way, Mort?" Danille called.

Mort stopped at the doorway and turned around. "What is it?"

"There was a man at the door looking for you, earlier. A John Shooter?" Danielle said.

Mort blanched. How did the man get from his house to the grocery store so quick? It was impossible and yet…

"When did he arrive?" Mort asked.

Danielle shrugged. "About half an hour before you did. I told him you would be back any minute, but he didn't want to wait."

_Of course he wouldn't_, Mort thought, _he knew where he was going to find me if I wasn't at home._

"I thought he might be your publisher or something, but I don't know why he would make a personal visit to your house," Danielle said, smiling softly.

_Why indeed_, Mort thought.

"Are you quite alright?" Danielle asked, cutting his thoughts. "You look pale."

Mort gave a brave smile. "Quite positive, thank you." Without another word, Mort disappeared into the kitchen. It was going to be a long night indeed.


End file.
